


For Chaos!

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Series: Domri Lives AU [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Domri lives, Gen, War of the Spark fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: For a moment, Domri saw his own end in the eyeless sockets of an invader from beyond the stars. Then he saw a spear, a shattered skull, and the biggest damn wolf in all of Ravnica.Well, that was new.War of the Spark - Domri Survives AU. Written for cowboyaddie on tumblr.





	For Chaos!

Battle was like a second home to anyone who called themselves Gruul. The tear of limbs, the smash of stone, the cries of the wounded – that’s what the clans called music. Not some poncey collection of leather and metal. Bone splintered and metal sheared as the mightiest guild on Ravnica smashed through blue nasty after blue nasty. Domri whooped with every skeleton slain, cheered as his comrades ploughed through corpse after corpse. Yet his joy lasted only until they marched on the Transguild Promenade. Domri had dreamed of this day. Raiding the heart of wretched civilisation. This was where the big-wigs were. The banks, the barracks, the stores, the law-makers, the high and mighty Guildpact himself. They were all down this long street, all lined up in a row, ready for the clans to come in and knock skulls.

The dragon had plonked a great big stone block at the end of it, where he could watch everything crash and burn from on high. He didn’t respond to Domri’s greeting, probably too high up to even hear. Things got tricky to hear through the pounding of blood in your ears, Domri knew that. His heart was racing as he led his men out into the open, out into the fray.

That was when things went to hell.

Domri was lopping off the arms of a particularly big nasty when he heard a scream from his left-hand side. It wasn’t a glorious war cry, or a bellow of rage, but a high-pitched thing of terror. He turned, just in time to see one of his mate’s heads bounce across the pavement and into the gutter. There was a gurgling cry and a rush of gore as one of his ogre allies had his throat cut out. His mates, warriors, shamans, even their beasts and boars, were being slaughtered one by one before his very eyes. He swung his axe into zombie after zombie, cleaving metal and bone as he sought to get to his companions. But no sooner had he reached their side, they crumbled like twigs to the ground, leaving him to fight his way to loss after loss after loss. The rush of battle, that had his heart racing so delightfully, had turned to cold panic. He was alone. Alone and surrounded on all sides.

Battle was like a second home to anyone who called themselves Gruul.

Except this wasn’t a battle.

It was a massacre.

What had happened? They’d been slicing through these fiends like grass just a moment ago. They’d been winning. But now they were all gone. Eb was gone. Big Jaala had fallen. Sver had no head. Nasrin lay with her legs several feet away. Someone had been crushed under the weight of their own boar, the poor creature weakly stirring about the spear in its gut. Domri wrenched the stick out, giving the beast the rest it deserved. He turned to plunge the weapon into the closest nasty, but, Domri paused a second too long. Before he could even scream, a helmed zombie had seized him by the throat. He choked, spluttered, eyes watering as he flailed helplessly against the inhuman grip. He tried to weakly kick at the thing. Domri Rade would not go down begging for his life. Domri Rade would fight to the last, even as all the air was being slowly squeezed from his lungs! Domri Rade would-

THUD.

Fragments of skull showered across his face. He fell to his knees, grasping at his neck and shuddering as he tried to steady his breath. The world around him spun like a top as he willed his lungs into action.

“Domri! _Domri!_ Get up!”

He looked around in breathless confusion. There was a fresh pack of blue nasties heading straight towards him, but the ones that had killed his mates... Where were they?

“No time for messing about Domri!”

He felt a hand grip him by the back of the collar. He almost lashed out when he recognised the voice of his rescuer.

“Lakkie? What are-“

“Shut up and get on the damn wolf Domri!”

He allowed himself to be hauled up onto the back of a wolf the size of a bear. As soon as his arse was in the saddle, the great beast growled and pounded off back the way he’d come.

“Domri,” said Lakkie, “I’m going to need you to do your thing on Ylva. She’s not strong enough to run with both of us for very long.”

Everything had happened so fast, he couldn’t do anything but cling to Lakkie and gape gormlessly.

“Boost Ylva!” Lakkie exclaimed as they raced away from the promenade, “Give her strength! I’ve seen you do it to your boars!”

Oh right. Ylva was the wolf. He took a deep breath and focused on the mass of sprinting fur and muscle beneath him. He shared with her some of his determination, his ferocity, hell, even his grief at losing everyone, anything that would give her the strength to get out of there. She let out a howl, her paws suddenly glowing with a fierce green light. Lakkie let out a yelp as she started running at a speed even greater than her previous sprint. The pavement cracked under her footfalls as she bore them down roads littered with bodies, over makeshift barricades and through alleys littered with debris. She took them across the precinct, ripping at any zombie that dared impede their way. Lakkie speared a few as Domri clung on for dear life. Turns out riding a magically-charged wolf was nothing like a wild boar. On the boar he had more to cling onto. He could control the boar. But Ylva listened only to herself. She was insistent she knew what she was doing and resisted all his attempts to take control. Damn dogs. They all thought they were heroes, the whole lot of them.

They skidded to a halt round the back of a stables, devoid of horses. As soon as Lakkie and Domri were off, Ylva rolled over onto her side, panting heavily, tongue lolling out between massive white teeth. Lakkie, also panting hard, sank into the straw, giving her an affectionate pat on the muzzle and belly rub with his oak-branch arm. Domri staggered a little before joining his old friend in the straw. Flat on his back, he stared up at the dark sky. It was only morning but the dragon had blotted the sun out of the sky behind thunderous storm clouds. When did dragons get to control the sky? No fair.

He rolled over to get a better look at his friend. He hadn’t seen Lakkie in what, two years? Seemed like an age since he’d watched the smaller boy go down for his Burying. Honestly, he’d been surprised that Lakkie had the nerve to go down there. It was a terrifying experience, even he wasn’t too proud to admit it. Being treated like a corpse absolutely sucked and it had been far too much for little Lakkie – he’d been in the tomb for what, two hours? Two hours before he started screaming like he was being ripped apart. His dad had gone down there to pull him out, ignoring the protests of the shamans, fighting off anyone who got in the way. Domri remembered the blood. Lakkie’s dad wasn’t a warrior, but he was a hands-man who made the best damn weapons in the Rubblebelt. His spears were legendary, and he had one of those damn-fine spears as he fought his way down to his squealing boy. They both got exiled for that. Domri couldn’t argue with the big bosses, not at that time. Now? Yeah, he’d have beaten those pricks into the dirt and let Lakkie stay and train as a hands-man with his pa. But back then, they’d been cast out into the wilds. Whip had gone after them, trying to make sure Lakkie was safe. Domri hadn’t seen either of them since. Well, until now.

Lakkie was busy comforting his monster-wolf, who seemed to run herself out. It was then that Domri noticed the she-wolf was wearing armour. Thick leathers along her head, back and flanks, decorated with silver stitching. The leather was stained with blood and blue dust, but the pictures were still clear as day. Trees, the armour was covered in pictures of winding spirally trees. He looked at Lakkie himself, similarly covered in guts and fragments of blue nasty. He was wearing a long tattered green tunic underneath leathers similar to those on Ylva. Riding breeches, padded and tucked into thick boots, showed he’d been riding in a bit more comfort than Domri had. He couldn’t help but let out an appreciative whistle at the spear on Lakkie’s back. It was a bloody fine stabbing stick, serrated head shaped into a jagged leaf, like the bushes out back of their old stomping grounds. Lakkie’s dad must have made it, you didn’t get such a good bind on any old pole. That thing was art. Did that mean his dad was still about too?

“What were you thinking?” Lakkie suddenly demanded, finally having his breath back, “Trying to be mates with the dragon? Did you take too many knocks to the head?”

Now that wasn’t fair.

“Didn’t you see?” he retorted, “The dragon took down Vitu Ghazi! That’s some first-rate destruction right there! Why wouldn’t I want in?”

Lakkie grimaced.

“Yeah I saw. I’ve never seen the higher-ups so pissed.”

Higher-ups? Wait… Domri took another look at the armour, at the curly trees.

“You’re Selesnya now?” he gasped, “What you do that for?”

Lakkie rolled his eyes.

“’Cause the Gruul kicked me out remember? Who thinks burying people alive is a sane way to say welcome to the pack? Selesnya gave me and my dad a new home, a new job. They gave me my own wolf. And you’re the best damn wolf of them all, aren’t you Ylva?”

Ylva licked his hand and let out a huff of agreement. She was a really good wolf, Domri couldn’t deny that.

“Now I get to ride all over Ravnica, sticking chumps who are up to no good. If Yvla hasn’t already ripped off their heads. You’re ace at head-ripping, aren’t you girl?”

Ylva flicked her tail and let out another wuff.

He still sounded like the Lakkie Domri knew. The Lakkie he’d knew loved sticking people and the head-ripping sounded like even more fun. Yet Domri couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed. Selesnya? Really? That guild was full of poncey elves so far up their own arses that he was surprised they didn’t shit petals and rainbows. The wolves were neat, but rest of the time those flowery bastards drained perfectly good Rubblebelt, killing off all the natural critters to grow their great big creepy gardens. Perfect nature was creepy. There was no such thing as perfect nature. Trees shouldn’t grow in the shapes of things that weren’t trees. Plants shouldn’t grow in lines as straight as blades. That wasn’t right. Nature was bigger him, them, anyone. Nature was Chaos. Chaos was Natural! You couldn’t force nature to line up in rows all ugly. Plants deserved to be free. Critters deserved to be free. Hell, even water deserved to be free! The Selesnya wanted to take all of that away from Ravnica!

He opened his mouth to say at least a bit of that, when Lakkie cut him off.

“I don’t really care what you think of Selesnya,” he stated, “I’m more pissed that you want to help that dragon wipe Ravnica out of existence.”

“Ravnica will still exist,” Domri replied, forgetting all about his previous complaints, “We’re just wiping civilisation! Ravnica will be what we’ve always dreamed. Wild. Free. All that space for the birds and beasts and the Gruul!”

Lakkie sighed.

“You’re a lump-head, you know that?” he retorted, “Didn’t you see that huge statue? The great big stone block that dragon has perched his arse on? He’s not here to tear down civilisation! He’s here to wipe every man, bird and beast off the face of the world and then replace it with his stone army! Those undead bastards aren’t even touching the buildings. They just march through the streets slaughtering innocents. Yeah, Vitu Ghazi is done, but they’re right near Sunhome, near Vizkopa, and those aren’t even touched. He’s not creating your wilds, he’s creating a world-sized tomb!”

Domri wasn’t lump-headed enough to deny he had a point. The blue nasties were all over Ravnica but they hadn’t knocked down any buildings. All the walls were up. All the shiny guildhalls still stood. Vitu Ghazi had got up and actually fought the dragon, which was why it was now bark and ash on the floor. Lakkie had a point damn him. All he’d seen the nasties do was kill people. They’d killed Eb, Big Jaala, Sver, Nasrin… That wasn’t chaos. That wasn’t even fun. That was just killing good mates for the sake of killing.

“And have you seen them?” Lakkie continued, “Those blue creeps march like Boros soldiers, all lines and flanks and formations. What’s chaotic about that? What’s wild about that? That’s what your dragon wants to replace people with. He’ll replace good men with troops, birds with flying monsters, beasts with skeletons! He doesn’t give two figs about nature!”

There was nothing like a friend to point out what a great big idiot you’d been. Domri groaned and drew his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his knee-plates.

“Sure, I’m not Gruul anymore,” Lakkie concluded, “But I care about the wild bits of Ravnica. My heart’s still out there, breaking windows and wrecking faces. And I’m sure Ylva’s heart is out there with it. You can put a wolf on the streets, but you can’t take the wild out of its heart. If this continues, we’re not going to have any wolves or streets or anything. We’re all done for.”

When he did get so smart? When they were younger, Lakkie and Whip would just do whatever he said. They were an great little gang of their own. Taking whatever they wanted, but never prisoners. Krokt, that had been so good! Why had he wanted a whole guild? He could have just had Lakkie and Whip… They would have ruled the Rubblebelt just the three of them!

“Alright, clever-boots, what the hell are we meant to do about this?” he asked Lakkie, “’Cause I’m certainly not Boss anymore. The clans will tear me to bits.”

“I have an idea,” said Lakkie, “It’s why I came to find your sorry arse in the first place. I can’t do it myself. I think it has to be you.”

“What’s that?” 

“Whilst I was training with Ylva, I found a thing,” Lakkie explained, “This thing, it’s old, old and Gruul. Hard to explain, I got to show you.”

He got to his feet.

“Alright Ylva,” he told his wolf, “Sorry girl, we got to make another trip. Less undead on this one though.”

If a wolf could shrug, Domri was sure Ylva would have. She got to her feet with a calm sort of indifference, as if Lakkie was worrying too much. She reached out one enormous paw and nudged him towards the saddle, wanting him to get a move on. The action almost knocked Lakkie clean off his feet. Domri couldn’t help but laugh. He liked this one.

“What’d you do to get such a brill wolf?” he asked Lakkie, as they climbed back up into the saddle.

“I wrestled her,” Lakkie replied, “Keepers said the cub was too aggro to train into a proper rider, but I liked the fire in her eyes. They let me go in and play with her, thinking the pup would rip the new idiot’s hand off. Nope. We bonded. Now we’re the best of pals.”

Ylva agreed. Domri was getting better at feeling her mood. He was more experienced with pigs than dogs but he could tell the bond between her and Lakkie was rope-tight. He got up with more grace this time, wedging his feet beside Lakkie’s in the saddle loops. Maybe he could try and put one of these leather seats on a boar, would probably stop the chafing.

“Go!”

They raced out of the stables and back down the street. There wasn’t a nasty in sight as they got further and further from the city centre. The sky was still dark with fake clouds. Little streams of light, like shooting stars, flitted past the gloom. Domri wondered if they were yet more nasties, flying glowing nasties. There was no time to check, besides, they were far too high up.

“I had a thought!” announced Lakkie as they cut through a deserted market square, smashing crates, scattering fruit and watching it roll across the cobblestones.

“Your brain’ll melt if you keep having those!” Domri replied, raising his voice over the pounding of gigantic paws.

Lakkie ignored him.

“What happens when there’s nothing left to smash?” he shouted, “When you’ve knocked all the civilisation down? What then?”

“A bloody great party!” Domri replied with a grin. Lakkie laughed.

“After the party lump-head! Who'd you fight after you’ve fought everyone? Whose skull do you get to knock? Whose buildings do you wreck?” What will there be after you’ve destroyed it all?”

Domri hadn’t really thought about that.

“A world with no raids sounds pretty boring,” Lakkie continued, “A world where you don’t get to trash windows and knock down walls? What will you do when there’s no one but Gruul left to fight?”

“I guess we fight each other,” Domri replied, “And then they’d be less and less of us to fight and – shit, we’d wipe ourselves out!”

“That was my thought,” Lakkie said, “The Selesnya and Gruul can exist at once. You need people to fight. You need people to build stuff so you can knock it down. Can’t have chaos without order.”

“Can’t have fun knocking down civilisation if it doesn’t exist,” Domri agreed, “I think the Selesnya did something to your brain Lakkie.”

For once, he meant that as a compliment.

“I think I learned something you mean,” he replied, “Yeah, so when this dragon buggers off, don’t trash all the buildings too fast. You’ve got to give us time to make you some more.”

“Got it!”

The question remained. How were they going to get the dragon to bugger off? It was fine and mighty to think about what came next, but they still had a very large dragon-shaped problem that wasn’t going to give them a Ravnica worth knocking down. They broke their way into a large Selesnya garden, crashing through a disturbing hedge in the shape of a centaur. The flower beds were utterly trampled under Ylva’s paws as they ignored the path entirely and delved deep into a thick maze of hedgerows. Domri couldn’t help but let out a joyous cheer as they crushed a delicate wooden sculpture, splinters of wood flying through the air in their wake. The hedges grew thicker and thicker, as if the Selesnya didn’t know how to put together a stone wall. These bushes were designed to keep chumps out, but the pansies hadn’t planned for one of their own wolves to come tearing through.

“Found it!” cried Lakkie. Ylva skidded to a halt, making it very clear it was time to dismount by simply lying on the ground. Domri leapt off and turned to see what lay at the end of their wreckage.

A rock the size of a large hut stood surrounded by guard-hedges. It was too tall to climb, too smooth to get a handhold on, and far too big to consider pushing. There was no way they were hauling this rock at the dragon, so Domri looked for what else looked neat about it. It was then he saw the runes. Big letters, probably carved by a giant, had been chiselled into the rock’s surface. It was hard to make them all out under the dark sky.

“Haven’t got a torch have you?” Domri asked.

“One mo.” Lakkie drew his spear off his back and tapped it on the ground. The jagged end suddenly lit up with a bright green glow.

That did it. There weren’t just runes on this thing, there were pictures too! Pictures of a mighty pig, surrounded by bowing worshippers, the bodies of his foes lying prone at its feet. The boar’s mane was made of fire, its tusks had gored armoured knights which dangled uselessly from its mighty head. It didn’t take a genius to know what this was. A really epic set of pictures of the Great Raze-Boar doing Great Raze-Boar stuff. They were wicked, but not good for hitting a dragon with.

“Can you feel anything?” asked Lakkie. Domri frowned. Feel it? Oh right, with magic.

He attempted to connect with the rock like he might do a boar, or now, a wolf. To his surprise, the stone responded. It felt like a living beast, with feelings. It was restless, angry, impatient, it could sense the bloodletting across Ravnica and wanted to be out in the fray. He assured the rock he knew exactly how it felt. How was a rock supposed to join in the battle anyway? Was there anything he could do to help?

**“Imbue this vessel with your rage and pray to the power of the wilds.”**

Holy shit a talking rock!

**“I am not a rock, little Guildmaster. I am Rage. I am Chaos. I am which Civilisation fears. Towers tremble. Buildings quake. Fire lines my path. War trails in my wake.”**

That rhymed. It was also immensely cool. Domri reached forward to touch the rock, tracing over the mighty tusks of the Raze-Boar.

 **“They are mighty indeed,”** said the rock, “ **Sharper than steel. Tougher than bone. Release me from this vessel and I will wage war on this invader from beyond the stars.”**

Wait.. Raze-Boar? The actual fucking Raze-Boar? Ilharg, the boar of all his childhood stories, the greatest beast to roam Ravnica... was actually a rock?

 **“I am _in_ the rock**,” said Ilharg, sounding more than a little impatient, “ **Let me out of the rock little Guildmaster. I will battle this dragon. We ride to glory!”**

Yeah! Right. Put his rage in the rock and pray to the power of the wild!

He glanced back at Lakkie, who was watching beside Ylva.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“We need to pray to the Raze-Boar,” Domri replied, “Come help! If we do, we can help him out the rock. Then he’ll fight with us!”

Lakkie didn’t hesitate. They both knelt by the rock, mimicking the carved worshippers, heads low in reverence. Domri felt for the rock again. Reaching forth, he grabbed hold of that thirst for battle once more. Just like when he’d inspired Ylva, he pushed forth all his emotion into the stone. All the he anger – all the rage he’d felt at civilisation went pouring into the rock, along with his fury for the other guilds, the dragon, and every time he’d been shoved around by those claiming to be better. All the determination – the desire to have a Ravnica left to knock down. The need to redeem himself after losing so many good mates to his own stupidity. All the despair - Of losing Eb, Big Jaala, Sver, Nasrin, of leading his mates to a pointless grisly death. He shared with the Raze-Boar everything he’d learned from Lakkie. The need for Chaos to have Order. The need for there to be someone to build the rooftops before they smashed them down. The need for there always be someone to maintain society, so they could raid forever. The Raze-Boar rumbled its approval.

**“Ravnica is a world of balance little Guildmaster. For every glass made, another is shattered. For every brick laid, another is thrown. We are Chaos. Without us Ravnica could not thrive, could not live free and unfettered. The dragon has constructed great edifices to himself. Now, you, I, and the faithful Gruul. We will turn his monuments to rubble!**

The ground beneath them gave a deafening rumble. Ylva let out a low growl as the hedges around them quivered and suddenly burst into flame. The rock before them flashed crimson, each glyph alit with a fiery glow, starting from the base, flicking upwards like leaping flames until every rune and image was ablaze. Lakkie hastily crawled back on all fours, consoling his panicking wolf as she began to whimper at the growing blaze.

“What did you do?” he cried.

“He’s coming!” Domri exclaimed, “He’s coming! The Raze Boar is coming to crush that bastard!”

Suddenly the wind picked up, sending the fire coursing into the sky, whipping it into a cyclone that shot a column of pure heat up into the storm. The surrounding bushes were reduced to cinder as the pillar grew taller and taller, hotter and hotter. Orange flames turned a bloody scarlet as they broke through the cloud cover. Thunder rolled overhead as they covered their eyes, unable to bear the brightness overhead. Lakkie put a hand over each of Ylva’s eyes as she put a paw over his entire face.

**“I ARISE.”**

Lightning shot across the clouds, blood-red, accompanied by a chorus of thunder. It struck the pillar of flame and suddenly the cyclone vanished. Domri had blinked. One moment there was fire. The next there was the boar the size of a house. His mane burnt with green flame the colour of warpaint and not two, not three, but _six_ set of tusks protruded from his mighty snout. Red markings, like fire coursing through his veins, striped their way down his flanks. And the smell! Like burning muck and pig shit! That was one great big boar alright.

Hell, imagine riding to war on that!

Ilharg the Raze Boar turned to stare down at him, green flames raging in his eyes, each the size of a melon.

**“Domri Rade, I am ancient power who has seen the rise and fall of civilisations. I am chaos incarnate, one who would see society weep amongst its ashes. My name has launched a million raids, and left millions more wading through the blood of their foes.”**

Domri continued to stare up at the immense boar, his imagination presenting him with so many wondrous possibilities.

 **“But yes,”** conceded Ilharg, lowering himself a little so his back grazed a nearby rooftop.

**“You may ride me.”**

Fuck yeah!


End file.
